


Back to the Night We Met

by alexclusive



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind Ignis Scientia, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Tearjerker, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 13:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexclusive/pseuds/alexclusive
Summary: I had all and then most of youSome and now none of youTake me back to the night we metFor ten long years, Ignis dreams of his king.





	Back to the Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for a friend, who asked for a shortfic inspired by [The Night We Met](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtlgYxa6BMU), by Lord Huron.

For ten long years, Ignis dreams of his king.

It's almost paradoxical, and certainly an irony, how in his waking hours he's been stripped of his sight, condemned to a world of near-absolute darkness instead of the phantom silhouettes of the one that the rest of the living still inhabit through the Long Night — but in his dreams, he sees light and color, shapes and figures and all the familiar sights of a home that now exists only in his memories. 

There's work to do, in the land of the living. He'd be shirking his duties if he abandoned them to sleep any more than a regular night's due. So he works hard, and he puts his skills to use as best he can, and the only reward he ever asks or claims for it is when his work reaches a stopping point and he's able to set it aside, and stumbles off to his bed to let his sleep and his visions claim him.

Every night, he dreams of Noctis. Every night, he hears Lunafreya's voice.

Like a film reel unwound in reverse, he revisits his memories one by one — evenings spent lingering in Noct's apartment, seeing to some tedious chore or another. Birthdays. Holidays. The day he was formally inducted into the Crownsguard. The day Noct granted him his blessing, and with it his access to the Armiger. Great and small, meaningful and inconsequential, he dreams and he dreams and the only constant in all of them is the fact that Noctis is there, always there, old at first and then younger, younger, slipping back with him through time.

It's surreal to watch, night after night, because played out in reverse Ignis starts to see how Noctis grows happier the further they slip into the past, which only serves to remind him of how sad he'd been in the present. Dream after dream, he watches a softness return to Noct's expression; night after night, he watches a hope rekindle in his eyes. He dreams of rain-soaked boxes filled with kittens and piano lessons in the Citadel, and storybooks and nights spent reading by flashlights beneath covers, and ill-fated artwork and escapades out through the back exits and servants' quarters to try to watch the stars.

For ten years, he dreams of Noctis, until the night when his Noctis returns — and when that night comes, he doesn't dream. He doesn't need to; he's already holding the real thing in his arms, one last time.

~

The night after the dawn returns, Ignis dreams of Noctis again.

This time, the dreams aren't memories; they're only visions. This time, the chronology moves forward, year after year; rather than watching Noctis grow younger, this time he watches him age from a handsome young king to a dignified, regal one, the spitting image of his father. He dreams of places he's never before seen, of a castle on a hill that half resembles the Citadel and half seems like Fenestala Manor, and half seems like somewhere else altogether.

That's three halves, but he doesn't question it.

In these dreams, he always sees Noctis, and sometimes he sees others with him, but never himself the way that he used to. Sometimes Regis is there, his second father; sometimes it's Lunafreya, radiant in Lucian black. Sometimes Ravus casts him a solemn nod. Sometimes Clarus is there with a kiss for his forehead, and a blessing to pass on to his son.

The years go by. The world rebuilds. They name Ignis to lead them, and still he dreams.

The night after they bury Prompto, Noctis smiles at him in his dreams, and points down the edge of a lake to the sandy shore where Prompto is laughing, camera in hand and feet bare in the surf, snapping photo after photo of Lunafreya and her dogs as they kick up sprays of water while the waves roll in. He aches to join them, yearns to see the film-captured memories he hasn't been able to lay eyes on in decades, but Noctis places a hand on his chest and pushes him back with a press to his heart, and says, _not yet_.

The night after he's asked to choose a replacement for Gladio, Noctis is waiting in his dreams, and takes him to a campsite with four chairs around a crackling fire. All of them are empty, because Gladio and Prompto are laughing and wrestling just beyond the flap of the tent, with a deck of cards scattered all across the ground around them. Noct's is empty because he's standing at Ignis's side. Ignis starts forward in the hopes of easing his aching, tired bones into the one meant for him, but Noctis takes him by the arm and draws him back, and whispers, _not yet_.

The years go by. The rebuilt world flourishes.

The night he feels an ache in his chest and a numbness in his left arm that won't relent, he rouses himself from his bed and walks the halls to the throne room that's been his for what seems like an eternity. He mounts the steps one by one, on shaking knees through breathless lungs, and doesn't truly know if he'll make it until at last they cease to curve, and it's only five short steps to the throne he hates, the one he took because he was needed, because it was his duty, because it seats only one and Noctis had already gone away, and there was no one left behind to claim it.

He sinks with relief into the seat of the throne, arthritis-weak fingers gripping the armrests, and closes his eyes against the darkness that has been his world for decades, because he knows what he'll see when he does.

Noctis, beatific and beautiful, smiles at him as he holds out his hands.

"Let's go, your majesty," he teases with a boyish laugh, and waits for Ignis to take them, and when he does Noct rocks his weight back and pulls him childishly from his chair, young and exuberant and already ready to be off.

"There's going to be a meteor shower tonight," Noct tells him, and he recalls that there had been a skyful of falling stars the night he accepted his position with the Citadel, too.

"How do you know?" he can't help but ask, as he bounds onto legs as strong and flexible as they'd been in his prime, already wrapped in his favorite trousers of old.

Noctis beams.

"Because you're here, duh," he answers like the boy he once was. "Don't you know? They're falling for you."

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback is appreciated, and thank you very much for reading!


End file.
